


What It Wants

by Tripped



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (in a way), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, More angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10236854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tripped/pseuds/Tripped
Summary: There’s a poem to be written in the way it feels to have your soulmate vision, or soul-hallucination, or the literal manifestation of everything your heart decides you love, hate you from the get go.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up; this fic is semi-canonical, so while it borrows most elements from the canon storyline, it changes a few things. In this case, Shitty is actually in the year above Nursey! Did I make Shitty younger, or Nursey older? Who knows!

The boy appears when Nursey enters that ‘space’ again; the one where he’s not moody enough to be depressed, yet too moody to be functional. That feeling of looming dread which manifests itself every now and again – too often for him to really be _happy_ , too scarce for it to be a _problem_. But it’s certainly not serious enough to warrant a visit from his soulmate, of all things. Especially not for a first visit.

The lanky frame of a freckled, redheaded teenager slouches disinterestedly in an armchair at the edge of Derek’s peripheral, as if he’d always been there. Like he hadn’t just appeared out of thin air, apparated into Derek’s existence and set up shop in the nooks and crevices in his brain.

Derek sighs. It was actually kind of humiliating, in a way, that he ended up summoning his soulmate vision for _this_ kind of thing. This thing that isn’t even a thing. This thing that isn’t life-threatening, or career-threatening. It’s just him, and his bratty, dumb feelings.

 _“If you don’t want me here I can just go_ ,” the redhead sighs. He launches to his feet, and puts around the room. _“I mean, clearly you don’t need me here, so...”_

There’s a poem to be written in the way it feels to have your soulmate vision, or soul-hallucination, or the literal manifestation of everything your heart decides you love, hate you from the get go.

 _“I don’t hate you,”_ the boy mumbles, replying to Derek’s inner monologue, _“I mean, I just came into existence, dude.”_ Spotting a mirror, he walks up to it and begins prodding at his face. Nursey watches him, frozen, admiring the stretch of his muscles, the broadness of his back, the way his body dips so _nicely_ down to his waist—

 _“Really?”_ The boy scoffs, spinning around to glare at Nursey. _Ten seconds in and you already want to fuck me,”_ he derides. He shoots a pointedly unimpressed glance at Nursey’s crotch.

 _“Gimme a break,”_ Nursey sputters, covering his front meekly. _“I’m a bored, horny teenager, and you’re like, the personification of everything I find attractive. So just, like, chill, or whatever.”_

 _“Chill?”_ the redhead huffs, disbelievingly, _“fucking Christ...”_ He returns to the mirror, picking at his teeth.

 _“Um. What should I call you?”_ Nursey asks. The boy shrugs.

 _“Hell if I know,”_ he replies, and threads his fingers through his hair. _“How about Red?”_

_“Alright. Not very original, but alright.”_

Red raises an unamused eyebrow. _“Wasn’t really looking for constructive criticism, there, Derek,”_ he chides. Satisfied with his appearance, he plops back down into the armchair and sinks into its cushions. _“So? We good then?”_ he yawns.

Nursey shrugs. He’d been under the impression that his soulmate would be the person he _needed_ , someone gentle, caring, someone fun and exciting. He’d expected his soulmate to make him _feel_ something, to loosen the strings so tightly wound in his chest, to draw him into a brand new world of wonder and adventure. But, he guesses, his heart had other plans. Because apparently what he wants is someone who antagonises him at every turn. Apparently what he wants is scoffed words and icy disinterest. Apparently all he wants is a hot body and nothing more. Apparently, his heart’s a masochist.

Red looks at him.

 _“Well, I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment,”_ he bites, and suddenly the armchair is empty, as if he were never there. Nursey swallows. He might have fucked that up just a bit. But he doesn’t feel too bad; Red isn’t real, after all.

But if Red isn’t real, why does he feel so alone now that he’s gone?

He feels the space set in, again.

\--

Upon reaching high school, all adolescents, by law, undergo a soulmate education program to inform them of the realities and myths of soulmate visions. In this class, students are taught that soulmate visions appear in times of need, starting at the age of seventeen. They are a nurturing presence; projections of the soul, the manifestation of a person’s most heartfelt desires. While your soulmate vision is the image of another person, it’s still technically _you_. A person within you; a personality that you’ve created, with all your knowledge, all your wants, thoughts, feelings.

But a person’s soulmate vision isn’t just a coping mechanism. It’s a way to help them identify their _true_ soulmate – a real person, somewhere in the world, who looks and acts almost identical to their soulmate vision.

The education program makes it clear that a person’s true soulmate is the better version of the soulmate vision their heart generates. A true soulmate is a real person, someone with their _own_ experiences, their _own_ lives, their _own_ thoughts and feelings.

The education program also makes it clear that soulmate visions are rare and irregular, occurring around just a couple instances a year until you meet your _true_ soulmate.

Which is why Derek’s a little concerned when Red shows up for the fifth time that month.

 _“Are you stalking me, or something?”_ Nursey asks, looking up from his book, sat against the wall of a long, narrow, vacant hallway. There’s a severe absence of windows along the hallway; just walls, doors and an old, patterned carpet that stretches far into the distance. And Derek.

The hallway’s normally the kind of busy that verges on chaotic – the messy shoving and bustling of stressed teenagers, not quite awake enough to be friendly, hair mussed and tussled. The sheer volume of people that fill the hallways each day is no surprise to Derek – after all, Andover is the biggest boarding school in the state. Sometimes, though, he wonders how he can be surrounded by so many people and still feel so alone.

 _“You’re the one who keeps calling me here, Nurse,”_ Red huffs, _“just ‘cos you’re lonely. Kinda fucked that you need yourself to keep you company.”_

 _“Shut up,”_ Derek grumbles, feeling something wet prick at his eyes. Red never fails to make him feel worse about himself.

Red shuffles awkwardly. _“Whatever,”_ he mutters, tracing the carpet pattern with his eyes. _“How hard is it to get a friend, Derek?”_ he grumbles.

Derek scoffs, wetly. _“Easy for you to say, Red. You’re not even real.”_

A door squeaks open a few rooms down, disrupting their conversation. It’s a senior, one with short-cut, brown hair, green eyes. Nursey recognises him from the senior hockey team. The boy freezes as he spots Derek, his body sticking out awkwardly halfway through the door. He swallows.

“Uh, I needed the – umm,” he coughs, “the, uh, the bathroom.” Derek blinks at him. The senior must see something in Derek’s expression, because his awkwardness quickly melts into sympathy. “Oh, dude. Are you alright?” he whispers, stepping into the hallway.

Derek clears his throat, and wipes embarrassedly at his eyes. “Yeah, uh—I just. Soulmates, y’know.”

The boy hums, coming to sit down next to Derek. “Not what you expected?” he inquires.

“He’s... um... meaner.”

The senior barks out a laugh, just a tad too loud, and it echoes down the hallway. “I feel you, brah,” he murmurs, “My soulmate, she’s pretty standoffish, too. But like, in a cool way.”

“Yeah, well,” Nursey replies, “mine’s not... not in a cool way.”

“Oh, man—I’m sorry,” the guy says, eyes wide. Nursey shakes his head. He’s not looking for pity. They sit in the silence of the hallway, just the two of them. Red’s nowhere to be seen.

The boy stands up, and holds out his hand. “I wasn’t really going to the bathroom,” he admits, grinning, “I was actually gonna sneak out for a bit. Wanna come?” Nursey takes his hand, and the boy pulls him up. “I’m Shitty, by the way. Both as an adjective and a name.”

Nursey laughs.

\--

 _“What? No! What the fuck!?”_ Red scowls.

 _“C’mon, Red. Just like, a peek?”_ Nursey pouts, his body stretched out against his bedsheets, hand stuck unceremoniously under the waistband of his underwear. _“The guys only have like, straight porn, and I’m getting pretty desperate.”_

Red stares at him incredulously.

 _“_ Brady’s _soulmate vision did it for_ him _,”_ Nursey whines.

 _“Yeah, ‘cos_ Brady’s _a disrespectful, narcissistic dickwad,”_ Red huffs, crossing his arms tightly. _“Plus, I thought you had a_ boyfriend _, now,”_ he sneers. Only a few weeks ago, Shitty had introduced Nursey to a guy in his year; a guy that was having as much trouble with his soulmate visions as he was. He’s a nice guy – a stable, careful, soft-spoken dude, but—

 _“We’re not there yet, okay?”_ Nursey mumbles, blanching.

 _“And this doesn’t count as cheating, right, if it’s all in your head?”_ Red scoffs.

 _“If you’re in my head, can’t I just, like,_ will _your clothes off?”_ Nursey wonders, deliberately ignoring Red’s question.

Red pinches his brow. _“I_ know _you know that’s not how it works,”_ he sighs. _“I’m a part of your subconscious. You can’t control me. You can’t make me do anything. And you certainly can’t make me strip for you. So please, for the love of god, take your hand out of your pants!”_

Nursey pulls his hand out, reluctantly. _“I thought you were meant to_ like _me,”_ he grumbles.

 _“I’m a part of you, remember? I only see you in the same way you think you deserve to be seen,”_ Red says, shrugging, _“so, not my fault.”_

Suddenly, Nursey doesn’t feel like jerking off anymore. _“Yeah, okay,”_ he says, emptily. _“You can go now.”_

Red bites his lip. _“Um, are you sure? Cos, like...”_ He trails off.

 _“Just go.”_ His voice trembles.

Red looks at him, pitifully. _“Fine.”_

\--

When Nursey feels the bed dip beside him, he already knows who it’s going to be. He draws his knees closer to his chest, and hides his tear streaked eyes with his arm. _“Are you here to tell me ‘I told you so?’”_ he manages.

 _“Yeah, pretty much,”_ Red replies. Not for the first time, Nursey considers that while Red always manages to show up when Nursey needs someone, he does a fairly crap job of being the one Nursey needs. _“You knew it was never gonna work,”_ Red appraises.

 _“Yeah, well maybe I wanted to_ choose _who I got to love, you ever think about that?”_ Derek yells, suddenly angry. _“Maybe I wanted anyone else but_ you! _”_

Red turns away, quickly. Like he’s hurt. Which is ridiculous, Derek considers, since he’s not an actual person.

 _“Anyone else, huh?”_ Red bites out. _“You’d choose anyone else.”_ Derek fumes in silence. Red shakes his head, and brings his hands to his lap. They may be sitting next to each other, but it feels like a distance of a million miles. The quiet sets in, sinking into the space between them.

 _“I’d have been okay with it, y’know,”_ Red mutters, softly, eventually, _“if he’d treated you right.”_ Derek shakes his head, angrily.

 _“He_ did _treat me right!”_ he spits. _“He treated me better than you ever have! I just... I just—”_ Couldn’t love him. One of the nicest, gentlest, funniest guys he knows, and he just... couldn’t love him. He feels like the type that falls for the bad boy in those cheesy 90’s high school movies. The ones who are attracted to the rough and the hostile, yet cling to those rare, private instances of uncharacteristic tenderness, as if those few fleeting moments make up for every harsh word and every burst of anger. God, he really is a masochist.

So Derek couldn’t love him. But that doesn’t mean the break-up didn’t hurt.

 _“What’s that saying?”_ Red muses. _“You can’t love someone else until you love yourself?”_

 _“Well what if I_ can’t _love myself, huh?”_ Derek snaps, desperately. _“What if I_ need _someone else to show me what there is to love about me? What if I’m just... just... unlovable?”_

 _“What the fuck, Nurse!? That’s not true,”_ Red argues. _“You’re—you’re not unlovable.”_

Derek scoffs, and looks at Red, finally. _“Do_ you _love me?”_ he challenges.

Red looks away. Soon, the dip in the bed where he’d sat has disappeared. Just Derek, with nothing but the company of himself. Red’s spot is still warm.

 _“Yeah,”_ Derek mumbles to the empty air, _“that’s what I thought.”_

\--

Unfortunately, despite their heavy arguments, those emotionally charged fights which always leaves Nursey feeling raw and exposed, life doesn’t make way for Derek’s emotions. It’s like he’s left untethered in an unforgiving river, being pushed relentlessly downstream, with no time to catch his breath. At his lowest points, Red reappears; and while they never quite forgive each other, they do a good deal of forgetting – always acting as if their last interaction had never happened at all. Their occasional fights, while still fiercely bitter, grow tired and weary. He feels more drowned and drained by his thoughts than ever before.

And things should be looking up. He’s been making new friends – Shitty’s mob, a group of seniors with which he shares a similar distaste for Andover’s archaic traditionalism. He’s been upgraded to being a regular member of their lunch table, and every meal is accompanied by a heated roast of the newest teacher, or a quarrel over someone’s shitty music taste, or a huffed replay of their latest hockey game. It’s aggressive, and hyper-masculine, and Derek’s been at the tail end of far too many hard-hitting chirps himself. By all accounts he should _hate_ it, but he finds himself enjoying the company. It took some time, but he has a _group_ now. Or, rather, he _had_ a group.

Because, ever the unforgiving river, life goes on.

“I’m sorry, m’dude,” Shitty sighs, clapping Nursey’s shoulder, “if I could stay another year I would.”

The box of Shitty’s belongings shifts in Nursey’s grasp as he sighs. “I _know_ you would. You’re too nice, man.”

Shitty brushes his hand against his short-cropped hair. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking of growing this out a bit at Harvard. Maybe getting a ‘stache too. Like, one last fuck you to Andover’s grooming policy.”

Nursey grins. “Dude, you’d look sick with a ‘stache and flow.”

“I know, bro, I know,” Shitty replies, grinning in return. Nursey looks out, onto the road past the driveway. He clears his throat.

“I—uh. Just wanted to say thanks for, uh—talking to me and shit,” Nursey mumbles. “And for like... initiating stuff and inviting me to things even though I never did that for you. Like, you didn’t have to, so—”

“Nursey, man. You’re a good guy, alright?” Shitty says, nudging him fondly. He ruffles Nursey’s hair, and Nursey ducks his head. “Hang in there, brah,” he says, taking the box of his possessions from Nursey.

It’s when Shitty’s car rolls out of the school gates that Red appears, perched on a step of the school’s entryway, gazing thoughtfully out to the road. _“One of a kind dude, huh,”_ he says.

 _“One of a kind,”_ Nursey echoes.

Red stands up and moves to head inside, stopping briefly to rest his hand on Nursey’s back. He’s warm.

\--

Surprisingly, it’s Red’s idea.

It’s the kind of day that leaves Nursey exhausted. The kind where the _space_ has settled in again; crawled into his bedsheets that morning, slipped into his clothes, and clung to the back of his head for the rest of the day. So when Red shows up, like he always does, as Nursey’s sulking in the courtyard, Nursey is one hundred percent not able to _deal_.

But surprisingly, it’s Red’s idea.

 _“You should call your sister,”_ he suggests. It’s said as soon as he appears, before Nursey can tell him to leave, as if he’s already anticipating the rejection.

 _“What?”_ Nursey blinks, caught off guard.

 _“Your sister. You haven’t talked to her in a while,”_ Red says, simply. He shrugs. _“I mean, I’m right, aren’t I?”_

Nursey looks at him. _“...Why?”_ he enunciates, slowly. His relationship with his younger sister wasn’t necessarily _bad_ , per say, but—well, they’ve never been close. And maybe he still carries some resentment from the fact that she got to live closer to home than he did, just because of which school their parents chose for each of them. But he knows that’s _his_ problem, not hers, and he’s never taken it out on her. It’s just... they’re not the kind of people who call up just to chat. And sure, he enjoys his frequent phone calls with his parents, but... Izzy?

 _“I dunno, to catch up, maybe?”_ Red scoffs. _“Like normal human siblings?”_

 _“She’s probably not even thinking about me,”_ Nursey counters. _“I’d just annoy her.”_

 _“Probably,”_ Red responds, sniffing. _“You are pretty annoying. Yeah, I’ve changed my mind; maybe you shouldn’t call her.”_

 _“Hey, fuck you, I’m not annoying,”_ Nursey argues. _“You know what, maybe I_ will _call her!”_ He pulls out his phone and presses her contact before he can talk himself out of it. Red smirks, leaning back against the wall behind him.

“Hey Derek,” Izzy answers.

“Yo, Izzy,” he replies, with the same chill exterior that he’d learned to exude over the course of his friendship with Shitty’s gang.

“Yo? Are you a _cool kid_ now?” she mocks. Nursey rolls his eyes. He may be two years older, but that never stopped Izzy from making fun of him. “Well? Do you need money from Dad, or something? Hurry it up, I’m kinda busy here.” In the background, he hears the mad tapping of buttons that he’d learned to associate with home.

“Busy, huh? Busy playing... what was it, COD, or something?” he scoffs, smiling. He could never understand Izzy’s affinity for video games. She’d begged their parents for a PS3 for her birthday, and she’d pushed for it so much that they’d eventually caved. Meanwhile, Nursey got a mug.

“I don’t play _COD_ , Derek,” she mumbles. “If you must know, it’s Batman. Arkham City. But seriously, what do you want?”

Derek scratches his head. “Just wanted to know... uh... how you were doing... at like, school, and stuff,” he says.

“School’s fine. Did you really call me just to _chat_? Seriously?” she laughs. “You’re so lame, oh my god.”

Derek shoots a glance at Red, looking far too amused at Derek’s embarrassment. “Wasn’t really my idea,” he scowls. Red makes a mocking pouty face.

“Ah. You got your soulmate vision, right?” she says, knowingly, which is strange, since she’s younger than him and hasn’t had her _own_ soulmate vision yet. “What’s your soulmate like?”

“Infuriating,” he deadpans. Red laughs.

“Oh, so perfect for you, then,” Izzy taunts.

“Don’t be jealous, Iz,” he jokes, “I know you’re just sad that your soulmate’s gonna be _Jim_ from primary school.”

“Ew, stop!” she squeals. “Don’t be gross, Derek—” Suddenly, the sound of panicked button mashing — “Fuck, fuck, die!” — the button pressing stops. “But yeah, not Jim, not in a million years.” An absurd part of Derek wants to call her out on her swearing, like some overly concerned parent.

 _“You’re so mean to your sister,”_ Red comments, grinning.

 _“Only ‘cos she’s mean to me,”_ Derek huffs. _“Plus, it comes from a place of love.”_

 _“Uhuh,”_ Red says, unimpressed. _“And you’ve told her that?”_

_“What?”_

_“That you love her?” Bet you won’t,”_ Red challenges.

Derek gives him a look. _“Yeah? You’re on, Red,”_ he returns, determinedly.

“Hey, Iz,” he starts, holding eye contact with Red the entire time. “You know I...” He stumbles. Alright, maybe this would be harder than he originally thought. “You know I, uh... I love you, right?”

There’s a long, drawn out pause. He hears her put down the controller. “You _what?_ ” she cackles. “What was _that_? That was so awkward?”

Derek burns behind his phone, glaring at Red, who grins smugly. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles.

She laughs. “ _Whatever_ ,” she imitates, lowly. “You’re such a lame-o, bro.” It’s like she’s here, by his side, smacking her arm into his chest, smirking. “I gotta go, Derek—I’m about to fight the Penguin,” Izzy says. “So, bye. Um. Love you, bro.” She rushes out the last part quickly, like she’s embarrassed, and hangs up before he can respond.

Derek stands, frozen, the phone clutched tightly in his hand.

 _“I told you so,”_ Red huffs, crossing his arms and staring valiantly to the side of Nursey’s head, avoiding his eyes.

 _“Told me what?”_ he whispers.

_“I told you that you weren’t unlovable.”_

\--

When Nursey has the time, in between his classes and assignments, he writes poetry. He’s not very good at it, yet – after all, he’d only started being interested in poetry a couple of years ago, and it took him a good several months before he even considered _writing his own_. And it was kind of embarrassing, too – something he did in private, away from prying eyes. But with every scribbled stanza in his journal, every finished word document, every empty pen and broken pencil, he finds himself growing more and more confident with his words.

He taps his pen, thoughtfully, as he considers his next line, but the sound of someone knocking on wood distracts him from his chain of thought.

 _“I think this thing’s gonna collapse any moment now,”_ Red comments, observing Nursey’s dilapidated bookshelf appraisingly.

Nursey spins around in his chair to face him. _“What are you doing here?”_ he asks, carefully.

 _“Felt like dropping by,”_ Red mutters, striding up to Nursey’s desk. _“Thought I could help you with your poetry.”_

Nursey blinks at him. _“I called you here... to help me with my poetry?”_ he articulates, slowly, disbelieving. Jesus, he was really milking this ‘soulmate appears in time of need’ thing. _“Also, you like poetry?”_ he asks, surprised.

 _“Nah, not my thing,”_ Red replies. _“But you know a lot about poetry, which means I know a lot about poetry, unfortunately.”_

Nursey hums. He’d never considered that Red could _like_ and _dislike_ things before, but now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. After all, Red’s existence was the same as if he’d imagined someone up – a person with their own likes and dislikes, their own wants and desires. _“Yeah, that’s about right. Also the fact that I can’t know anything that you don’t already know,”_ Red finishes, shrugging.

 _“Huh,”_ Nursey says. He files the thought away for another time. _“So, um... what do you think of the poem?”_

Red leans over Nursey’s shoulder to read the unintelligible scrawl of his handwriting, sprawled out over the crumpled pages of his journal.

 _“Well?”_ Nursey asks, wringing his fingers together. _“What do you think?”_

_“I think it’s pretentious with a capital P, Nurse.”_

Nursey scoffs. _“Pretentious is just a word that people use when they can’t interpret the bigger meaning.”_

 _“Ah, but I know what the meaning is, since I know everything you know,”_ Red counters, _“and I still think it’s pretentious.”_

 _“Yeah? Well...”_ Nursey trails off. He sighs. Red definitely had a point. He’ll admit that the thought of it being pretentious was always at the back of his mind, too. Now that he reads it over, again, he can see what Red means. Some of the larger, impressive words are just clunky and unnecessary, the literary allusions he makes are just pandering, and the free verse structure he’s using doesn’t add any value to the poem at all. There’s no emotion. What he’s written is just... a self-indulgent _rant_.

Groaning, he lets his head fall to the desk.

 _“Fine. It’s pretentious. I’m a terrible writer with no sense of literary restraint,”_ he moans, woefully. _“I just... I dunno... I don’t have any inspiration.”_

 _“Well,”_ Red starts, _“why don’t you write about—”_

 _“I’m not writing about you, Red,”_ Nursey interrupts.

_“Damn.”_

A loud thunking sound from behind Nursey breaks him from his thoughts. Without having to turn around, Nursey already knows that another one of the ledges of Nursey’s bookshelf has fallen down. Red pinches his brow.

 _“Look, how about this: I’ll help you write if you learn how to fix that fucking bookshelf,”_ Red reasons.

Nursey blinks. _“Wait, why do you want me to learn how to fix the bookshelf, again?”_

Red shrugs, meekly. _“I like to know how things fit together,”_ he mumbles, reddening. Nursey smiles. The sight of an embarrassed Red isn’t something he gets to see regularly. Nor is the sight of a Red who’s actually _enthusiastic_ about something.

 _“Deal,”_ Nursey agrees. _“But, poem first, alright? Now, what should I write about?”_ He scribbles out the pretentious poem and flips to a new page, pen at the ready.

Red lets his gaze trail around the room thoughtfully. _“How about you write about how hard it is to write something? Is that nice and clever enough for you?”_

Nursey considers him. _“You know what? I think you might have found something I actually feel strongly enough to write about,”_ he chuckles. Flexing his fingers, Nursey considers his words, carefully – he thinks about his struggle to put his thoughts on paper, immortalising his ideas on the page – the difficulty of finding the perfect phrase, the perfect line, close enough to see but too far to grasp.

 _“Keep it simple, Derek,”_ Red comments, pointedly. _“Poetry’s about experience and feeling, not words.”_

Derek nods. Experience. Feeling. His pen drops to the page. ‘I’m squeezing the words from an empty toothpaste tube,’ he writes.

Red laughs. _“I actually like that line,”_ he admits.

Nursey reads it over, again. _“Huh,”_ he mumbles. _“I like it too.”_

\--

 _“Would you describe your hair colour as red? Or more of like a light orange?”_ Nursey asks, tapping his keyboard absently.

Red casts his eyes skyward in exasperation. _“Light orange isn’t even an option, Nurse,”_ he sighs. _“You’re just stalling.”_

Scrunching up his nose, Nursey scrolls back through the large online questionnaire he’d just spent the last hour filling out. Gender. Hair colour. Eye colour. Height. Weight (approximate). Likes. Dislikes. He scrolls down further. Outstanding features. Smirking, Nursey types ‘ears’ into the box.

Red scowls, and his ears pinken. Just a few weeks ago, while watching Netflix, Nursey had been introduced to wondrous world of guys with big, goofy ears, and ever since, Red’s ears had stuck out visibly on either side. Red had complained endlessly about it, but to no avail. Nursey had found them attractive, so there they stayed.

Nursey takes one last look at his profile, making sure that everything’s perfect. After all, he wants to make a good first impression. He chuckles as he spots his profile picture – the one that Red had protested heavily against, claiming it was too ‘douchey’. It was several rejected profile pictures later that Nursey realised that ‘douchey’ just meant ‘unfairly attractive’ in Red-speak, after he’d noticed Red rejecting all his best ones. The picture he’d finally chosen had been taken during a family holiday, by the beach, with Nursey grinning freely at the camera, shirt opened just a touch at the collar, hair tousled by the wind. He can see what Red means – he _does_ look pretty unfairly attractive.

He hovers his mouse over the ‘Find match’ button.

He’d never had any inclination before now to find his _true_ soulmate, the one person in the world that Red’s meant to be based on. But, things change – Nursey’s grown, Red has too, and now, it’s almost the only thing on Nursey’s mind anymore. Meeting the real world’s version of Red, in the flesh.

And with the help of SoulMeet, the world’s largest soulmate matching program, he might just get there.

 _“C’mon, Derek. Just do it,”_ Red whines, impatiently. _“I wanna see me.”_

Nursey takes a deep breath. He presses the button. In the seconds that follow, they clutch each other in a hopeful, tense, heavy silence.

Zero matches.

Derek releases his breath, disappointed. He shrugs. _“Guess there aren’t that many gay or bi 6-foot redheads with big ears looking for someone like me,”_ he chuckles.

Red ruffles his hair. _“Maybe he’s just from a different country where this site’s not as popular.”_

Nursey scoffs. _“Or maybe he’s closeted,”_ he sighs.

 _“Or maybe he wants to find you... y’know, without SoulMeet? Like they did in the past?”_ Red considers.

Nursey looks at him. _“You were literally so impatient to find my soulmate just now. And you think he’s gonna want to find me without SoulMeet?”_ he deadpans.

Red raises his hands. _“Okay, okay, stupid idea.”_ They stare at the empty results box. _“Don’t stress about it. It’ll happen. You’ll find him,”_ Red reassures.

Derek nods. _“Yeah,”_ he agrees, _“I’ll find him.”_

\--

Clutching his box protectively, Nursey glances one last time at the large, imposing Andover building. He feels something clutch in his chest – something hopeful and new, something anxious and scared. He spots a bird, perched on the roof, and follows it as if coasts gracefully down to the fountain by the entrance, and then further, as it flies towards the gate and over the fence. It’s terrifying – the unknown. But it’s also refreshing. He may be drifting in an unforgiving river, but the view’s awfully nice.

 _“Big day, huh,”_ Red murmurs, hands bunched in his pockets, looking out at the driveway beside Nursey.

Nursey chuckles. _“Big day,”_ he echoes. He shakes his head. _“You must be so tired of me, summoning you all the time for stupid stuff like this,”_ he huffs.

Red shrugs. _“I don’t mind,”_ he mumbles. _“I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. It doesn’t mean you’re needy. It just makes you more in touch with your subconscious than most people.”_

Nursey doesn’t reply, preferring to bask in the sun – to feel the freedom, sinking into his bones.

 _“Where to from here?”_ Red asks, wrapping an arm around Nursey’s shoulder. He looks down to the entrance of the school, and finds Izzy, and his parents, Shitty, and his crew, and the friends he’d made in his final year, grasping their own boxes, feeling as lost and as free as he does, in this moment.

 _“Dunno,”_ Nursey says, honestly. _“But I think we’re gonna be alright.”_

\--

It happens before university term starts, as he’s chilling with his sister by the PS3 at their parent’s house, controller in hand, tongue poking out in concentration. The phone buzzes, but he doesn’t pick it up until later, once he’s lost quite spectacularly against his sister.

“How are you so bad at this?” she asks, cheekily, stretching back into the couch to relish in her victory as Nursey checks his phone. His breath hitches as he reads the phone notification. ‘1 new match found from SoulMeet App”. Suddenly, it buzzes again. ‘1 new message from SoulMeet App’.

He stops breathing.

Struggling to quell the desperate hope in his chest, he hurriedly opens the app on his phone. Izzy, concerned by his panic, leans over to look.

“Oh my god. Is this...”

William Poindexter – new match. He looks at William’s picture. It’s a bashful photo, taken of a handsome, redheaded boy, looking away from the camera, with large, goofy ears, an awkward toothy smile, sun-coloured eyes. Red hair. Derek swallows. It’s him. He scrolls down to the message. ‘Hi. I’m Will, or Dex, if you like,’ it reads, punctuation and all. Derek smiles, without meaning to. ‘Sorry I took so long.’

Izzy clutches Derek’s shoulders. “Dude...” she breathes.

“I...” Derek starts. “Um. I’m gonna go... to my room,” he manages, stumbling up and out of the couch.

When he reaches his room, he shuts the door behind him, pushing it back with his body, and sinks to the floor. Red’s sitting next to him. When Derek dares to look, Red’s changed, ever-so-slightly. His face, his frame, his eye-colour, just... everything about him—it’s all identical to the profile picture of William Poindexter, right down to the ratty flannel he’s wearing. Red grins at him, and the sight of him empties something in Derek’s chest, and opens it wide.

 _“Like my new look?”_ he jokes. Derek doesn’t answer, overcome with _feelings_. Red chuckles. _“It’s finally happening, then.”_

Derek nods, stunned. _“I didn’t... I wasn’t... ready,”_ he breathes.

 _“Looks like this is my goodbye,”_ Red whispers.

Derek swallows, nods.

 _“No, like, actually. This is the last time I’ll see you,”_ Red clarifies, rolling his eyes.

Derek whips his head around. _“Wait, what? No! I haven’t met him yet! You’re not supposed to leave until I’ve met him!”_ he yells, desperately. Red couldn’t leave. Not now; not when they’ve gotten to a good place. Not when he’s only now fallen for—

Red raises an eyebrow. _“C’mon, dude. You and I both know you’re pretty much half in love with William Poindexter already,”_ he laughs. _“I’ve done my part.”_

Derek shakes his head wildly, and brings his knees up to his chest. _“But... but... I can’t...”_ He sniffs, already feeling the wetness building in his eyes. _“I can’t lose you.”_

 _“Derek, I_ am _you, remember?”_ Red replies, simply. _“I’ll always be with you.”_

_“I’m a better person with you... and—”_

_“No dude; you made_ yourself _a better person.”_

_“—I need you... and—”_

_“You only need_ yourself _.”_

_“—You’ve helped me through so much... and—”_

_“You helped_ yourself _.”_

_“—I love you.”_

Red stops. Turning to look at Derek, he places a careful hand against Derek’s cheek. Tilting Derek’s head up so that they’re looking into each other’s eyes, Red smiles, gently.

_“Well, it’s about damn time.”_

Red leans his head onto Derek’s shoulder. The contact is so warm. Soon, he’s gone, and Derek’s alone, but it doesn’t feel like it – not anymore. He hasn’t felt alone for a long, long time.

\--

He’s late. He pushes through to the front of the bus, disgruntled, and fidgets with his shirt. It’s the same shirt that he’d been freaking out about that very morning, unsure if it was too formal or too casual, but Izzy had reassured him that it looked ‘as good as it could look on someone with your face’, which, in Izzy terms, meant he was pretty damn handsome. He stumbles onto the sidewalk, and begins a frenzied walk to the café that they’d agreed on.

He smooths down his hair. So much for first impressions, he thinks. Red would be laughing at him. After a treacherous journey to try to locate the café, half-tripping on a crack in the pavement, a tree root, and a small dog, all on the same street, he arrives, mostly unscathed. Dusting down his clothes, he takes a deep breath, and enters.

He spots Will immediately, gazing impatiently outside. Their eyes meet, and all the air is sucked from the room. Like joined reflex, both of them grin, involuntarily. Derek’s stepping toward him without even having to think about it. Will’s standing up now, too, and soon they’re face to face. Derek breathes out.

“Hey,” he says.

“H-hey,” Will replies. He scratches his neck, and breaks Derek’s gaze. Already, he’s different to Red – he’s adorably awkward, and Derek is enchanted.

When Will meets his eyes again, he can’t help but blurt, “You made me learn how to fix a bookshelf.” He would wince at himself, but Will’s smile only grows.

“You made me read two volumes of Neruda,” Will replies, scoffing. “Have you ever met a poet who doesn’t understand poetry? Because that’s been my life for the past three years.”

Derek laughs, brightly. The sun streaks against the coffee table, and across Will’s cheek, highlighting his freckled face. Derek takes Will’s hand. His heart expands. It took a while, but he got here. To this place, this space, where he’s finally, absolutely, deliriously content. The feeling that makes the bad days all worth it. Somewhere, inside him, he can feel Red’s smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Nursey, drunk: Did I ever tell you about that one time I almost masturbated to my own subconscious?
> 
> Dex: What.
> 
> \--
> 
> Thanks for reading! This is my attempt at a strange soulmate AU concept, so I hope you enjoyed. For some reason, this took _so_ long to write, so the Dex POV (yes, there's a Dex POV coming) may take some time.
> 
> Come find me on my new [tumblr](https://day-tripped.tumblr.com/)! @day-tripped 


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